


Moeder

by TanniK



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Gun Violence, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanniK/pseuds/TanniK
Summary: You’re a single mother providing for your toddler, living in a little apartment. Routine is simple, sometimes boring, but it works for your son and that’s all that matters.Your dumbass cousin, though, needs help, and now you have to house a notorious black arms dealer.





	1. Een

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second time doing a reader-insert, first on Ao3. Please let me know if you find it flawed and provide feedback. I have purposely left your son nameless and without description so that you shape him in your own mind, I figured it would help better connect you to him. As for Jace, I can't describe everyone's cousin, so he is also up to your imagination.
> 
> Afrikaans words:  
> Juffrou - (J pronounced like Y) miss, unmarried lady, sometimes teacher  
> Jou - your  
> Kind - (pronounced kint) child  
> Seun - son  
> Moeder/Ma - mother/mom  
> "Ek is..." - "I am..."

* * *

 In the morning you always made a pot of coffee, drank half of it, then woke up your little boy. Sometimes he was in a good mood, sometimes not. When he’s ready for daycare he watched cartoons while you got ready for work, then you would buckle him down in your broke ass putt-putt car and be on your way.

 It was hard to find a job that recognized their employees. Being a cashier at the local grocery store wasn’t much of a ladder, but every year or so you got reviewed and the paycheck grew a little.

 You’ve squared it with yourself the risk of switching jobs in a fiscally feeble situation. You felt your employer would find out you were trying to leave, that he would find a loophole and terminate you. It was known to happen around the city, it’s happened to your neighbors and old friends. Now whether it would to you was unsure, but you played it safe anyway.

 You didn’t have to be rich, just have enough to get by. Bills were paid, Food was bought, your son had clothes and shoes for everything. That’s what mattered, he was always first and he always lit up your day with his big smile once you picked him up. It melted your heart again and again. He would try to sing songs on the way home, played while you cooked, took his bath, and more often than not fought bedtime. Yet you always read to him before putting him down.

 Tonight in particular he fell asleep in your arms to Brown Bear. The clock was close to ten, you were exhausted, but didn’t want to be apart from him just yet.You rocked a little longer, held him close and listened to him breathe. This was your world. What you wanted didn’t matter, you did everything for his future.

 

* * *

 

  Your routine was dead set. You kept it like that to keep your son on track. Even on the weekends, you got up at the same time, started your coffee, and woke him up to nap on time later.

 Today’s coffee choice was an off brand from the dollar store. You’ve lost any discernible tasting amongst coffee; as long as it did it’s thing, you didn’t care.

 Just as you’re pouring a mug, steam rising and ceramic hot, you hear a familiar jostle at the door. When it opens you groan, knowing it’s your younger cousin. He’s the only other person who has a copy of your key.

 Jace popped in sweaty and frightened, trying to smile that nervous sweet smile. You think he needs to borrow money again or stay a couple nights, just as long as he didn’t start with ‘okay listen.’ That meant something worse, desperate, and it often involved the law.

 “Okay list-”

 “Nope,” you cut him off, turned your head. “Nope, no, no no,” you kept saying while he tried to get your attention.

 “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, (y/n), please-”

 “No no no no.”

 “I like screwed up big, like _really really_ -”

 “No no no no no no-”

 “ _Really_ big and it’s either this or I die.”

 You slammed your mug down on the island counter, sploshing coffee over it’s rim.

 “Then you’re getting cremated, because that’s all I can afford,” you deadpan. There’s a low chuckle from the doorway and it puts you on edge; your stupid little cousin brought someone here. You stared at the sunlight in the hallway, then flicked your eyes over to Jace. He froze and you noticed him gulp.

 The door closed, sunlight disappeared, heavy footsteps walked down the linoleum hall, and not but seconds later there’s this rugged ass man smiling like a dick standing in your kitchen, hands in pockets.

 “Sorry to bother you so early in the mornin’,” he said with a very thick accent you can’t discern. “But jou cousin here,” and he took one stride closer to Jace and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

 “He promised me a place to stay.” This older man tilted his head slightly, almost apologetic but not really, and shrugged his hefty shoulders. His left hand gripped your cousin unnaturally harsh, crinkling the shirt around his fingers.

 There was silence. The coffee pot gurgled from it’s pent up steam, then turned off automatically. You stared at this man, trying to figure out who he was and how red the red flag should be. He was aged, yet still seemed young. His hair was dark gray fading from black roots. His beard was unruly, as were his sideburns, and the curls didn’t help the look. He probably hadn’t trimmed for weeks.

 He looked stout, strong with no question. There were tattoos on his arms and you followed them up to the ones on his head. Gold teeth flashed and his eyes were happy, certain. He knew for sure there was no arguing with him. That’s what scared you, you found the fear in your stomach greater than telling him to fuck off.

 You froze, stomach churning knowing you somehow failed your child. They’d be around each other.

 “Yeah so…um,” Jace broke the silence, “This is U-”

 “Ek is Ulysses Klaue,” the man said, sticking his right hand out to shake yours over your island counter. Hesitantly you took it, not really grabbing his hand, but he was firm to hold your dainty palm and fingers. He doesn’t let go when you’re ready to.

 “I hope you’ll be so kind ta let me stay here a while,” and he flashed another smile. It was happier and you questioned if he was flirting with you. You took your hand back.

 “The fuck did you do?” you asked in a harsh whisper, boring into your cousin’s soul. All Klaue did was walk in and say a few things, but the vibes he brought weren’t like any other person you met. Jace bit his lower lip and made nothing but a very long ‘uuuuh,’ his eyes darting to try and figure where to start. As soon as he did speak, Klaue cut him off.

 “Actually juffrou, it’s best you don’t know.” You wondered what he said as he shook Jace’s shoulder a little, paining him. “But he does have a _fraud_ account and-” Klaue scrunched up his nose in disgust as he turned to Jace, his voice lowered.

 “He was being tracked.”

 The fear was evident in Jace’s body language, telling all if his eyes couldn’t. He was in terror and so were you.

 Instantaneously, coffee was not enough. You reached down into the island cabinet, felt the neck of a liquor bottle, and clumsily set it on the counter. Both men watched in curiosity as you uncapped the black rum and splashed more than necessary into your coffee. You threw your head back and knocked down the awful mixture until the mug’s empty. Setting it down on the counter, you did your best to control your gag reflex. Klaue’s mouth twitched up in the corners.

 “Did you tell him I have a child?” you asked without looking up.

 “Y-yeah, I did, and he doesn’t seem to h-have a problem with it,” Jace stutters looking back and forth between the two of you.

 “Ah, don’t worry ‘bout the kind,” Klaue spoke. “I love kids.” You craned your neck up at him, eyes wide. That is certainly not something you wanted to hear.

 “ _Great_.” Your sarcasm was obvious, but you trembled. Klaue read you and laughed, finally letting go of your cousin. Jace was somewhat laughing because of his nerves. You contemplated another go of coffee and rum.

 “Alright, that’s figured,” Klaue says and shakes a ring of keys from his pocket. “I’ve gotta couple errands ta run, eh?” He looked at your cousin again with another sneer. Jace looked down and away from him. Klaue turned from the two of you, not before winking in your general direction, and walked back out the door. He didn’t slam it, but when it closed it was the loudest thing you heard that morning.

 Everything was strained. Your anger tried to work back up, but Jace’s face was now tear-streaked and broken.

 “Fuck I’m so sorry (y/n),” he sobbed and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders were shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry, I am.” You couldn’t say anything because you wanted to comfort him, but also beat the living shit out of him for endangering your child. You heard your son make noise from his room and decided your toddler was all you needed right now. You left Jace sniveling in the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 When Klaue came back it was after lunch. You were on edge all morning, distracted by the many “what ifs” in your head; what if someone else showed up, what if it was Klaue’s ally, what if it was his enemy, what if the cops came, what if they shot everyone, what if they shot your child-

 “Momma momma momma,” your son babbled with a grin. Not all of his teeth were in and your momentary bliss was interrupted by another what if. He was going to teeth soon, toddlers always did, and he was going to get a fever and cry nonstop and this awful man was going to go insane and shake your son or put a bullet in your face to shut him up or-

 “Momma eat? Eat?” Most of the morning you sat on the couch tense, staring wide at the wall thinking about everything. You hadn’t eaten, showered, or changed. Your gut was upset and you kept debating to pack up your son and flee as far as your car could take you.

 “...No,” you whispered to yourself. Your hands shook as you poured a bowl of rice cereal into a red plastic bowl. Your son jumped up and down in his little onesie, refusing to wear shorts today. In a daze, you set the cereal at the coffee table in your living room, your little one ecstatic with his plastic spoon.

 “T’ank you!” he squealed and dipped happily into the bowl. There was an instant overflow of rice cereal on the table, making a mess. Again you sat down and stared at the wall, hands clenched within one another in between your knees. Should you and your son take off there was no doubt Klaue would follow you, right? He was hiding out to begin with, no one was supposed to know where he was and you knew he didn’t trust you. You didn’t trust his rugged ass either. A migraine was coming on, pinching your right temple and scantily branching behind the ear.

 You jumped when the door opened and couldn’t help to stare at the kitchen. A wall blocked the living room and hallway from each other, but it was Jace who rounded the corner with reluctance.

 “H-hey...he’s...he’s back,” Jace muttered. He wouldn’t look at you. He kept his head down and eyes on on the carpet. Your shoulders tightened when you heard Klaue’s shoes stomp into the kitchen, the door slamming behind him. He was ecstatic with a smile on his face, singing along to a song that blared through tiny earplugs around his shoulders. His right arm was full of plastic bags from the dollar store and a couple of outlets. He turned in a circle to stop on a dime next to Jace, smiling right at you with bugged eyes.

 At the squeak of Klaue’s shoes your son turned his head and made the most dubious expression midway eating a spoonful of cereal. Klaue’s face lit up ever more, jaw dropping with a feigned gasp.

 “Jah you’re the kind, eh?” Klaue asked, excited. He bent his head forward a little, smiling. Your nails clenched into you skin, breaking thin lines. “What’s your name seun? Can you tell me?” Your eyes narrowed between Klaue and your son, but your little man made an aggravated face and took a couple steps away. This prompted a chuckle from your visitor and Klaue straightened, backing off. He did a double-take at you and his smile dropped.

 “Easy Ma, I’m not going ta hurt the baby.” It came to you as a shock that you were glaring at Klaue, teeth set against each other and tears were brimming in the corners of your eyes. Anxiety was tight in your chest. You looked away to blink and breathe, finally letting go of your own hands. Klaue turned away and claimed a corner in the kitchen by the back door, kicking his shoes off. He plopped the bags on the dining table which jostled under the load. Klaue wobbled the table a few times, quirking a brow.

 “A lot of my stuff is broken,” you said. Thank god your voice was still strong and loud. “Don’t make anything worse.” Your son giggled, whether from you or his cartoons, but it made the threat die a bit.

 “Then how ‘bout I make it better?” Klaue responded, looking you in the eye as he jostled the damn table making a racket. You closed your eyes and reminded yourself to breathe; apparently you kept holding your breath because of him. Klaue started digging through his bags, piling up men’s boxers, socks, ties, and some hygienic products.

 “Listen juffrou, I’m not here ta break your things, not here ta hurt ya or the baby, just to use your couch for a while and then disappear.” His voice was so deep, but it jumped tones so easily. His accent was heavy in some areas, sometimes the words were normal. He smiled at you and plopped a fluffy pillow on top of his clothes. You caught the Joe Boxer smiley face on its tag. Scary.

 “How long is a while?” you asked, bracing for the worst length of time. Klaue’s eyes flicked around, trying to think, muttering words under his breath and his fingers tapped. He looked clueless, then he puffed his lower lip out and shook his head making a noise that meant he didn’t know. Your stomach sank, you felt sick again.

 Jace hadn't moved or said a word. He stayed put against the wall, staring at the carpet until a small clatter startled both him and yourself.

 “Uh oh uh oh momma,” your son said as he looked at his feet. Milk and cereal was everywhere. You relaxed in relief and told him it was alright. While you cleaned everything up Klaue stood in the kitchen trying on different sunglasses, staring at himself in the crooked mirror on the wall.

 “Jace boy don’t forget your pickup tonight, huh.”

 You peered up from the mess trying to read Jace’s face, but he wasn’t facing you anymore.

 “Yes sir,” he mumbled and rolled off the wall and out the door. You stood on one foot and a knee about to demand Klaue what he meant, but he turned to you first pointing at the current pair of glasses on his face.

 “Watcha’ think? Normal? Handsome?” They were huge shades, but the lenses weren’t dark enough and the rim was a rusted garnish green color. A ridiculous huge yellow tag still hung from the side probably stabbing him in the ear. At your pause he shrugged his shoulders.

 “Douchy?”

 You realized he was a competent motherfucker with a dark sense humor and even though he scared you, he also pissed you off.

 “Stupid.”

 As soon as it left your mouth he cackled.


	2. Twee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are afraid, but also angry with him. Klaue sets the rules down in a way that has you just under his thumb to bark from a distance.

It was painfully irritating how Klaue became comfortable too quickly in your apartment. He set his stuff up in the bathroom and stored his clothes in the hall closet after dumping out your extra towels, sheets, and blankets. You almost protested, but he lumped all of it back together in a very smooshed messy matter at the bottom of the closet. What linens he didn’t squish in he stuffed between the armrest of your couch and wall. Klaue blared his music loud enough that you could make out the songs from the tiny headphones slung over his shoulders. You hadn’t heard the songs since your youth when you watched old 80’s movies on the living room floor.

He was everywhere; messing things up to put his shit in place and then tidying it again as if that fixed everything. A couple times he randomly stopped to dance when your son was staring at him too long. Klaue would keep singing, giddy in the face to have your child’s attention, and apparently trying to get him to laugh. Each time your son turned away from him you felt victorious, but Klaue didn’t seem to mind and left your child alone. He didn’t pass the comfort bar- at least not with your child. The man had no qualm about getting in your space to set the couch up. The Joe Boxer pillow landed on an armrest, followed by a comforter. You didn’t care whether it was an accident that half the blanket landed on you and shrouded your body to your knees. It wasn’t funny. Klaue chuckled, apologized and lifted the blanket from you. Your hair frayed from the static, you could feel it clinging to your hair.

For however long this man was staying, it was bound to be difficult; the way Klaue settled was more like moving in than crashing.

There was a difference.

Hours slowly turned to night and Jace had yet to come back. You were still angry with him, but he was the only relative you talked to. You kept checking your phone. The analog clock over the sink had long since died; you kept forgetting to change the batteries and dust had settled thick on its top curve. You still kept glancing at it then the door, expecting Jace to walk in.

“He won’t be back ‘til late,” Klaue said. He sat down at the round dining table and plopped down an old, thick clunky laptop. When the table wobbled again Klaue started messing with it. Earlier he put cardboard under a leg, but you knew it wouldn’t work. You’ve tried propping, wedging, and rescrewing that table and it still wobbled.

A small bit of sadistic joy bubbled in your stomach watching Klaue get irritable with it; every time he tried typing on his laptop the table moved with it, making tiny click noises. You checked your phone again; seven-forty. You checked the door again, then moved from the wall and towards your fridge to start dinner. Conman visitor or not, your son’s schedule was still at play. Not one damn part of you felt like cooking, but your child was picky; at least chicken alfredo was easy. You precooked the chicken just a night ago for this, having planned the dish ahead of time. It was just boiling pasta and heating up the meat and boom, done.

As you cooked over the stove you kept glancing over at Klaue. He had been so energetic earlier, yet now he was stoic and serious. The headphones were crumpled in his jacket pocket and his eyes glared into his screen. This face you saw was discontent, it was eery. You thought him being a smiling jackass would be it, but now you glimpsed this.

Your emotions could not coincide when it came to fear and anger. You didn’t know what to do right now, you altered between lashing out at this man or hiding in your room with your child. You grit your teeth; keeping your child ignorant of the situation and on schedule pushed you to remain normal enough to cooperate.

Klaue did not get up to make a plate and you sure as hell did not make one for him. You sat down on your knees at the coffee table after serving your son; cut chicken pieces separated from his pasta noodles lightly dosed with alfredo sauce.

After some prompting, your son started to eat his chicken; he was never big on meats. You blamed it on the baby foods you had to buy for him when introducing solids. Those things had been so god awful the stray cats wouldn’t eat them.

“Dolly I can make room up here if ja want.” It startled you when Klaue spoke...and why the fuck was he calling you dolly?

“We’re good,” you replied. “We always eat here.”

“Og, I see why,” he mumbled under his breath typing hard on his keyboard- the table clicked with it. After another moment Klaue stopped typing. You paid no attention, watching the television with your son. You had basic cable and the only channel that had cartoons varied between PBS and some other show. Right now it was the Wild Kratts and once it went off, depending on your son’s appetite, then it was bathtime and off to bed. Briefly you wondered if you should move your son into your room so he was safer, or in particular, so you felt better about where he was at night. A clink and a clatter caught your attention, but you didn’t turn around. Klaue made a plate rather noisily and then went back to typing. You bit your lower lip, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

This bastard.

 

\---

 

Tonight wasn’t too much a hassle putting your son to bed. He still had energy, so you planned to definitely take him outside tomorrow. For now, he laid down, listened to you read Brown Bear again, and cuddled his sippy cup as you walked out and shut his door. Instantly you looked over to the dining table where Klaue was still there typing, but with his left hand. You were amazed at how his fingers moved perfectly and quickly over the keyboard. It was unnatural. He was talking on an old flip phone, muttering his words low and inaudible. It didn’t even sound like English. He glanced at you a couple of times, but paid no regard to you. He didn’t smile, grin, bug his crazy eyes out. This was work, you thought. It made you tense to see him so serious, but you felt at this point you shouldn't be surprised.

As he spoke on his phone, typed away on his laptop, you collected the dishes- except for his -and washed them quickly. Again you glanced at the door, wiping your hands off with a torn faded dishtowel.

You couldn’t handle going to bed without knowing Jace wasn’t here. You felt Klaue’s eyes when you put another pot of coffee on and you tried to ignore him the next couple times you went to check on your son. Your child was asleep within the hour and you sat on your couch, drinking coffee, watching a rerun of Law & Order. A smile kept creeping on your face when you’d hear Klaue grunt gruffly to the show, but he never asked you to change it. He was always calling someone on the phone or writing things down and fighting with the table.

By the fourth rerun that came on, Jace still had not come back. Your coffee was out and your body was crashing. Rinsing the mug in the sink, you couldn’t stand for the absence any longer.

“What exactly did you send him to get?” You asked this when Klaue was sliding the laptop into a crummy canvas carrier. The papers were set in different neat piles, paper clipped, and with the understanding not to be touched. Klaue stood up before you and you forgot how tall he was.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said and walked into the living room. You followed him, paying attention to where he stuffed his work- under the cushion in a little cut out square spot. Eyes wide, neck craning, and arms crossed you scoffed at the damage to your couch. When did he do that?

“I thought you weren’t here “ta break me things,”” you mocked him and all he needed was one step to seize you up- you were staring at his collarbone in one split second before he snatched your face harshly in his fingers. He was not smiling, his eyes harsh, mouth set in a thin line. Maybe work at the table hadn’t been that productive, maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“I’m not, but I will if I have to,” Klaue threatened, voice low. Unnervingly deep. His fingers hurt your jawline and you realized this was his left hand; it didn’t feel real.

“I’m not one to nag and hound down with questions, juffrou, so we’ll get this straight on night one.” He leaned in closer to you, not enough to touch, but enough to smell his breath and see red veins in the corners of his eyes.

“Don’t get nosey with me and I’ll make sure jou still have some sanity when I'm done here.” This startled you and you tried to step back from his grip. You couldn’t. In your gut, fighting at the same time with your fear, this was your home and your kid slept in the next room. This back-and-forth terror and anger was not working well; you had more questions and a foot to put down. Right now, you couldn’t. He was stronger, scarier, threatening.

Klaue did not let you go.  
“I want ya to understand how this is going ta work from now on, ya?” He tilted his chin up, pulling yours up with him and it hurt your throat. He was waiting for you to answer him, it just hurt to do so. You understood; he was the man in charge, shut up and take it as it is.

Your ‘yes’ came out strangled and broken because of his hand. He opened his fingers and you dropped some; he had lifted you to the toes. In a split second you practically ran to your child’s room and scooped him up to carry to your bed. No way in Hell was your son going to sleep alone in this place after that. After you settled him down near the wall you turned to shut your door and lock it; Klaue just relaxed on the couch with hands behind his head in perfect view of your bedroom door. There, just a tic, a smile tugged in the corner of his mouth.

Tensely, hurredly, you closed the door with the softest angry sound possible and locked it. Blocked it with a crate of random crap in the corner to keep it from opening anyhow.

At the edge of your bed you sat down trying to steady your breathing and quite honestly, not cry.

Jace was out picking up God knows what and then bringing that shit here; were Klaue’s intentions really ill-fitted towards you and your child?

Everything came back to the very first question in the morning- what did Jace do to plant this fucker in your house?

You did not fall asleep quickly and listened to every single noise that went on that night. You never heard Jace come back, never heard Klaue get up, never heard anything but the neighbors’ and city noises and your child’s random laughing in his sleep. Your heart thumped in your throat, unconsciously you grabbed it and ran your fingers on your jaw.

Klaue’s fingers had hurt, but they had an odd warmth, like a buzzing or a humming to keep something just above cold. You wondered if his left hand was even real.

 

\---

 

The schedule. Everything revolved around your son's schedule. It terrified you to see Klaue in the morning, but you had your child to think about. Last night you dreamt you drove your child out of town to get away and Klaue popped up out of nowhere in the passenger seat laughing. He made you turn around and go back. There were different versions; in one you obeyed and went back with the echo of 80’s music in the car. In the other you screamed at him to leave your family alone and he grabbed your face again, your son was crying in the backseat. It was your subconscious and imagination that made the nightmare worse, made your bones pop under his hold and crunch your jaw in his hand.

You stayed awake after that one. It showed on your face today, the dark circles, the stress he put you under after day one. Today would be different, you would make it like Klaue wasn’t even in your world. Fuck him, fuck that guy. If this was how it was going to work, he was going to be an invisible piece of shit on her couch. You were scared, but you were still angry. This should help manage the emotions, limiting your contact with him by not acknowledging him unless he really wanted you to.

Perhaps he noticed the air around you was different, because he was still serious and didn't say a word to you. His eyes followed you from the room to the kitchen, all around the kitchen. You refused to look, biting your lower lip the entire moment he stared, but took your hint and left said nothing. But he did take half your coffee pot in two mugs that he drained outright. He took the largest pancakes from the cooling plate next to the stove. He took honey from the fridge, milk, like he needed a big ass breakfast to ready his busted laptop on your crooked table.

Your son ignored him too, still giving him the same incredulous look and running (more like bobbing) away from Klaue. He was more aware of Klaue today and followed you around, hiding behind your legs as you did the dishes and sitting on your lap to watch the news. He sat on the bathroom floor and played with blocks while you took your shower, got ready for the day, and generally did not want to be without you.

You just finished putting on his socks in his bedroom; Jace was asleep on the floor, using your son's pillow and an old jacket as a blanket. You left him be, but was curious where the pick up had been placed in your home.

You son was dressed in a cute green, white, and gray outfit that had a shark stitched around it. He shorts matched and his socks were a bright red that drew the attention away, but he was going to play and this helped you track him just by looking for his feet.

“Alright, go get your shoes baby,” you say with quiet enthusiasm. He gasps, becomes giddy, and bops his way with a squeal to the front door to get his shoes. You yourself are searching for socks in your drawer when your door creaks.

“Where ja goin?” Klaue’s hand was on the door, leaning into the frame, the other hanging down by his side. You watched both hands now, your trust meter dropped too much last night. Cautiously, you pulled out a worn pair of gray socks, eyeing him. His eyes searched your face and hair; you weren’t disheveled today. You looked nice, at least.

“I’m taking him to the park,” you reply after searching his face for anger, bitterness. There might’ve been annoyance. It was weird reading Klaue right now. “He was in here all day yesterday, he needs exercise,” you add when Klaue doesn’t say anything. He taps his fingers on the door a few times.

“Moommmyyy! Mommy mommy I have shoos! Shoos mommy?” Your son was yelling from the front door. “Otside! Otside!” There was more babbling, incoherent but bubbly and excited. Klaue looked away from you and his face relaxed. He gave you his index finger as in ‘wait’ and walked out. You followed him with thoughts of him grabbing your son away from the door. That’s not what happened.

“Oi rugrat, ready for some sun today, ja!?” Klaue nearly shouted, excited, completely switched over from when he was talking to you. You felt your heart drop in your stomach, then spring right back up with fire. No, no no no no no-

Klaue slipped in his shoes and walked around with the laces hanging. His energy was different, pumped. He scoured the hall closet for a light collared over-shirt, black and pinstriped with a slightly lighter gray. He left it unbuttoned to show his tan beater. He thumbed through his collection of sunglasses and chose a pair that completely covered his eyes in width and in darkness.

“Put your shoes on, dolly,” he murmured as he sat and began tying his lace. He had rings on his fingers now and a watch that flicked sunlight from the window. You blinked, looked back at your son who was hopping in a circle with one shoe in hand and the other on the wrong foot. You couldn’t help the curse that slipped your lips.

“Fuck.”


	3. Drie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaue is paranoid that you’ll try to get help, so he tags along on an outing. You get confused as to how to handle your situation and you find out what Jace picked up the night before.

I did not intend this update to take so long and I apologize. 

Earlier this year in late February, my son was attacked by a dog and the tendon in his right arm was severed. He had to have surgery to repair it. He’s fine now, but I’ve been in a lawsuit for the passed few months against the dog’s owner. Last week I got a letter saying the case has been dropped and nothing could be done. I’ve been scrambling to find someone who will take it the case. 

I hope that everyone can be patient with me down the road. 

 

**\---**

  
  


The sun was shining, the breeze was cool and gentle, the weather was warm and comfortable. Dogs barked in the distance from picturesque homes. You passed iron gate fences housing brilliant green grass, friendly chattering homeowners and neighbors, joggers running by with earbuds in, adorable dogs who zigzagged out of your way. You figured they sensed Klaue’s personality, because usually on this walk dogs didn’t go out of their way to get around you and your toddler.

 

It could’ve been a great day if not for unwanted company. Klaue strolled with his hands in his pockets, whistling tunes. He seemed at home, natural, like he had done this walk before. He took in his surroundings every few minutes, stopped to stare at a woman’s ass, then kept walking with a stupid grin on his face. His grin only grew when your son realized he was closer to the park; your boy knew this walk, knew where he was. He jumped up and down and smiled, doing his best to say park correctly. Sometimes it came out pawrk or pork, it never mattered to you because it was always adorable. You did your best to smile at him, despite the situation, and fretting about how interacting with other people would turn out. You’re sure that’s why Klaue came along, he probably thought you’d rat him out and not return to the apartment.

 

Holding your son’s hand firmly, you looked across the street both ways before walking across the yield crossway. Klaue was a couple steps behind you, double checking the streets. The park was fenced in with tall fancy iron bars with a gate to match. It made sure no little ones could get out and run into the roads. The park itself was rather large, having not just a plastic playground for the children, but two basketball courts that were occupied with various men and women. Parents chatted, sitting under the shade of the trees’ canopies on wooden benches. The playground was brightly colored, albeit worn from years of rain and wear, it was still relatively new given it was placed down three years prior.

 

You remembered when it was put up, you had just found out you were pregnant with your little one. You winced at the memory, not because it was bad, only because it brought back thoughts of your ex.

 

Klaue opened the gate for the two of you, but you didn’t thank him. You couldn’t, you remembered his grip on your jaw last night and the god awful danger in his eyes. You hadn’t realized your shoulders were squared once you walked into the mulch, your son eager to run off. Swiftly you squatted down and had him face you, acknowledging everything you said so that he understood.

 

“Do not push, do not fight. Play nice and if anyone grabs you, scream for mommy.” He nodded his head to each point, though you figured half of it went in one ear and out the other. He beelined straight for the yellow tube slide and you watched him wearily, making sure he got to the top without falling down the metal steps.

 

Klaue’s hand slapped down on your right shoulder, startling you. Instantly you turned to look at him, only to double-take to your other side- his arm was around you. He raised a brow behind his shades and gestured to an empty bench.

 

“You should sit, juffrou,” he said and took the first step. It made you fall in line with him. Whenever he said this word, you could only picture a hacked up spelling of ‘yuf-fro’ and the more he said it the more you wondered what it meant. You sat down in the middle, Klaue’s arm still around you and resting on the bench behind. You shoulders remained squared, so you tried to look for your son’s red socks and just helicopter him to keep your mind off Klaue.

 

It was silent for a while, between only car horns and the basketball plays nearby. Children squaked and squealed, playing together. Some got prissy and had meltdowns, parents intervened to discipline or walk them away. Those parts you hated, especially if your child was the one causing a problem. He was young though, you were his mom and he had to learn; even if this made you the bad mom, if that’s what people saw when you swatted him on the hand or the bottom. Yet, sweet Jesus god, you  _ hoped _ today would not be one of those days.

 

Images played in your mind of getting into an altercation with another child’s parents, and in one version Klaue sat on the bench and laughed at you while in another he got pissed off and pulled a gun out on everyone in the park, firing it in the air and everyone’s screaming and running and sirens are in the distance-

 

There was an odd enough sensation on your shoulder that you had to check it. Klaue was...massaging his fingers into you.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but jou need to relax.” You carefully looked at him again and he was cool as a fucking cucumber, watching the children play behind his shades. Finches chirped overhead and you looked up, trying to find them, without thinking you pretty much leaned more into Klaue’s embrace. He smiled in the corner of his mouth.

 

“That was quick.”

 

Your shoulders squared again; you had the intention to scoot, but you saw red shoes go by on the playground and searched for your son again. Red shoes were a better idea, easier to see than his red socks, but you found him, trying another slide, laughing and playing with a slightly older girl. Shit, watch him, this could turn into a baby-bicker and who knows how her parents are- maybe they’re the flashy ass spectacle couple sitting by the water fountain. The lady had expensive looking shoes and a shiny blouse- silk? The man, you weren’t sure, he kept staring at his phone.

 

Klaue made some kind of deep groan then sighed heavily. He leaned closer to your head and you realized just how much gray was in his beard. He did not let you scoot back from him.

 

“You need to calm down. Your anxiety is giving me high blood pressure.”

 

“H-how can I calm down? You’re trapping me,” you whispered harshly. His brow raised again and he tilted his head forward so that you could see his eyes through the top of his sunglasses. You cleared your throat, feeling smaller under his gaze, and tried to tone down your voice.

 

“It’s hard to relax with you around,” you said more evenly. You glanced over at your son, now playing with another child. They were laughing, talking gibberish, taking turns on the little metal piano under the bridges and crossways that made up the bigger portion of the playground. Tentatively you turned back to Klaue who followed your glance.

 

“It’s...it’s also a thing I worry about, with my child.”

 

“What thing?” Klaue tilted his head to the side. You hesitated, thinking he wouldn’t understand your anxiety. When the hell would he commune with angry parents in his line of work?

 

“I just...I want to make sure if he gets into a fight with another kid, I can intervene before their parents’ do.” You shrugged awkwardly and looked back at your son. He was the same, smiling, playing, no troubles. “I hate having to bicker with other parents.” Klaue stared at you, you saw him in your peripheral, and then he tugged you in closer chuckling. You head leant on his shoulder and oh god, what the hell. No, you didn’t like this, but he did not let up on you.

 

“Don’t worry about that today, I’ll take care of it.” You turned upright at him, his arm still strong on your shoulders so you craned and it hurt your neck.

 

“What? No, oh god no that’d be worse.” You remembered his face again last night, those eyes, that grip, that deep threat of a voice he had made the hairs raise on your neck again. He felt it, this was his right arm around you, you noticed. He was grinning again.

 

“I’m not going to kill someone, if that’s what you're thinking.”

 

“I’m thinking no matter what you do, someone’s going to call the police.”

 

His lips set in a line and he finally looked away from you at everyone else in the park. Aha, he was paranoid, and here he was sitting at a child’s playground ready to jut himself into an altercation on your behalf. That didn’t benefit him to draw attention. Right?

 

“No one’s calling police on me,” he said gruffly and settled down a little in the seat. It pulled you  into him some more, you didn’t want to relent. He had on a damn good cologne, though…

“I won’t be rude, juffrou, I’ll just end it. Don’t worry ‘bout the baba, he’s fine.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you said.

“What is yuh-fro? Baba? That’s what we call a bottle, but I’m guessing you mean baby?” Your face was quizzical, he was looking at you, and you thought you caught his eyes behind those dark ass shades looking your face over with that smile of his.

 

“It’s not yuh-fro, it’s yuhf-frro, and it means miss. Da same as young lady,” he turned back to the playground.

“And ja, baba is baby.” The finches hopped down from the branches onto the ground, hopping between the leaves and fluttering at each other. You watched them for a while, glancing back and forth between them and your son. The sun speckled through the breaks in the branches, changing as the breeze swayed them. It flipped some of your hair in your face, tickling your nose. You wriggled it, much the same way as a bunny, and listened to the children. Your son played, he was fine, he was having fun. He didn’t ever need to know he was in danger, that danger had mommy under its arm.

 

You had actually relaxed into Klaue without meaning to. Maybe it was because you were sleepy and it felt great leaning on someone for a change, but to such an extent that you could pass out on his shoulder didn’t sit well. Wearily you rubbed your eyes and tried to sit up. You couldn’t.

 

“Klaue, please,” you whispered.

 

“Ulysses,” he said instantly.

“Don’t say Klaue.” His glanced around just a bit before watching the children again. You bit your lower lip at your mistake, then hesitated before asking again.

 

“Ulysses,” you paused, the name foreign on your tongue. When had you said such a name? Somewhere in a schoolbook…

“I want to sit up.”

 

“Ja? Could’ve sworn you were comfortable right here,” he grinned, showing his teeth.

“Didn’t sleep well last night, did jou?” You became increasingly uncomfortable and bit your tongue. You didn’t try to move again, but now you weren’t so comfortable either; your heart raced being this close to him. Not just because of his scent and the cologne, or that his shoulder and chest was broad enough for your to rest against him under the shade of a tree...but last night. He had hurt you last night, he wouldn’t let you leave today, not without him. He hurt you, but you relaxed enough to fall asleep on his shoulder?

 

_ What the hell is wrong with me _ , you thought to yourself. You were worried, confused, angry. God this man needed to go away. He made you feel all your emotions packed into one; anger, fear, yet compliant? This was familiar, you knew it was, and it reminded you of past relationships, the ones where you were angry as fuck but still did what they said out of fear of what would happen to you…

That was before your son. You didn’t miss this feeling.

 

There was a squeal that had trained your ears for the past two years. Klaue grunted as you bolted upright, his fingers still on your shoulder. No, but yes- there was your son crying with a red face as that same older girl from before stamped her feet and threw her hands on him- that little shit. Was it over the piano? The slide? A stupid piece of mulch?

 

“Oi-” Klaue could not hold you in that split second, his fingers slipped off your shirt once you kicked off to the playground. You sailed over the black border that separated the mulch from the dirt and leaves and reached your son first, tugging his sleeve and kneeling down to his face. You asked what was wrong, looking back and forth between him and the little girl. She was older, she was talking, your son wasn’t.

 

“He won’t share!” she cried and stamped the ground.

“He won’t share!”

 

“What won’t he share?” you asked nicely, rubbing your son’s back to calm him down. Angrily, the little girl pointed at the pipe microphone, the one everyone screamed into and some other child screamed back from the whole other side of the playground. The thing was, your son was too short to use it. You figured in your head he was mad he couldn’t reach it and she could. As soon as you tried to explain to your son about sharing and the young girl that he was just frustrated, a shadow loomed.

 

“Is there a problem?” You looked up at the man from earlier, the one who was buried into his phone. He wore a polo shirt, clean and white, with khaki shorts. His hair was slicked to one said and his sunglasses were actually regular glasses, but they turned when hitting sunshine. He tucked his phone into his pocket and looked between you and his little girl- you presumed his, they had the same brown hair.

 

“Just a sharing issue,” you replied and stood up- you were shorter than him, something you were used to, so you raised your chin up trying to be sincere. “My son’s too short for the...the thingy,” you gestured to the microphone.

“He got mad.” This explanation, apparently, wasn’t good enough, because the young girl was grabbing her daddy’s pant leg and repeatedly whined that your son wasn’t sharing and he was being mean. You grit your teeth..

 

“I don’t take care how little he is,” the man said and glanced awfully at your child then back to you.

“You need to teach your son better manners, or maybe not bring him out to play until he has,” He put a hand on his daughter’s head, the other hand on his hip. This was it. Challenging little shits and their parents.

 

“I’ll take care of mine then.” You were bitter when you said it and gently nudged your son behind your leg.

“But your kid laid hands on him, so  _ you _ better take your own advice.” Several words almost came out at the end of that sentence;  _ shithead, bastard, fuckwad _ . Not on a playground, though. There was a limit to your cursing.

 

The man straightened and took his sunglasses off, icey eyes were alight with the lighting of the sun catching just the right glimpse. They almost affected you, but you knew whose eyes were worse. Nope, no, this bullshit ass man wasn’t going to stare you down after the hell you had last night. You weren’t going to scamper away twice.

 

The guy opened his mouth to say something, but just as he did you felt Klaue’s hand on your shoulder again. It wasn’t rough, but he pressed down to remind you to stay calm. Your son was now in between your leg and Klaue’s. His crying dulled to little whimpers. Klaue gave another grin, but this one was different, not the playful ones you saw yesterday or the teasing ones moments earlier.

 

“You got a fighter on your hands, ja?” Klaue asked and then nodded to the little girl. She wrinkled her nose at Klaue, he scoffed. “Such a mean little thing!”

 

“Don’t talk about my daughter like that,” the man bickered and took a step towards Klaue who instinctively held up his other hand, still grinning.

“I saw what happened, I’ve been watching her this entire time! Your boy’s being a little brat about a stupid microphone. My girl’s standing up for herself.” This man wanted to be heard, he wanted to be right, and now people were looking. You glanced around and caught sight of the mother who slowly put her face in one hand, shaking her head.

 

“Ja, and she did a great job of it,” Klaue responded with an equally loud, but calmer tone.

“But she’s still wrong and jou, her pa, should teach her dat.” You could tell Klaue’s accent was more prominent when he was mad.

 

“Where the hell are you even from?” the man asked, his face scrunched at Klaue’s words. Kids gasped, including his daughter, and other children were simultaneously saying ‘ooo’ and ‘bad word’ all around. Other parents were now getting irritated. Shit, you just wanted to turn and leave. Fuck who was right, Klaue wasn’t good for this-

 

“Deutschland, you uncultured liar- jou been on your phone this entire time how could jou see what they were doing eh? I’ve been watching my boy,” Klaue pointed at himself and you tensed at how he worded that.

“All my baba did was cry, but jour lil girl pushed him twice.” He counted on his fingers. You looked back at the man; you had only seen her push your son once.

 

“So jou lie and jou don’t correct jour problems? Nah,” Klaue shook his head, still grinning.

“And jou stand here scolding his ma, challenging her?” Klaue’s face twitched into a scar, contorted face.

“ _ Jy’ore a hypocrite _ .” He spat at the man’s feet then spun you and your child around. Instantlys you picked your child up when you reached for you. Klaue strode with you in his arm, opened the gate for you like a gentleman, and completely ignored the embarrassment behind him. You looked over your shoulder for a second, seeing the man with ice eyes get flustered as everyone else on that park looked at him, children still pointing and yelling that he said a bad word. The woman from earlier took her daughter’s hand and sauntered off in the opposite direction. He followed trying to rebuttal.

 

“Don’t look back at ‘em,” Klaue said as he lead you down further away from the park, but not in the direction of the apartment. “Never look back at ‘em.”

 

\---

 

You were silent for a long while, only speaking when your son wanted to point and show you something. Klaue had dropped his arm from your shoulders long ago, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets. You had only spent maybe half an hour at the park, so it threw off the time you had planned to tire your son out. He didn’t want to walk, he wanted to be held, and you just didn’t want to put up with a fit after the park. Klaue lead you, finding the way to the nearest downtown shops. Your city was large, downtown was just half of it, and only certain parts were charming. The walk wasn’t strenuous, if anything it was nice and leisurely.

 

You contemplated thanking Klaue, having given some thought to it. Your anxiety had anticipated such a moment and when it happened, your fire almost won out in the end against that man. It would have been you cursing, walking out of there in embarrassment with disapproving looks from onlookers and pointed fingers from children. Hell. Klaue said he would take care of it and he did. He even spat at the guy; you couldn’t help but smile at it.

 

“Oh good, this’ll do,” Klaue said suddenly and walked faster towards a shop. He held the door open again and you saw the little white ice cream print on the door. You paused and looked at Klaue.

“Sugar is the last thing he needs,” you said. Klaue slacked and you wondered if he just rolled his eyes or not; it seemed like he did?

 

“Let your kid have some fun, ma. He can run it all off on the way home.” He wasn’t wrong, your son  _ could  _ run it all off. The distance wasn’t too much on you, but to his little legs it was. Relenting, you carried him inside the small parlour and was greeted by overly bright and happy employees. They must be paid to smile that wide.

 

You opted out of having ice cream, but Klaue went to town. He took care of the order while you sat at the table furthest from the window, son on your knee. When Klaue came to sit he had a tray and on it was a huge ass banana split with whipped cream, cherries, chocolate syrup, and nuts. Next to it was a small bowl topped with three large scoops of chocolate ice cream with cut peanut butter chunks. Your eyes widened and then your son made the biggest surprised face you’d seen since Christmas. He looked directly at Klaue, who smiled back just as big.

 

“Aha! Jou like that eh? Tell ma you’re diggin’ in, take a bite.” Klaue showed your son the spoon and handed it to him. Your child didn’t even wait for you; he just laughed, fumbled the spoon, but stuck it in the chocolate and ate. Oooh it was cold and he hated it so soon! Then he loved it and wiggled in happiness. He moved from your lap to the booster seat next to you.This hurt a bit, he completely ignored you, he was in bliss.

 

“S...slow down little man, you’ll get brain freeze.” You smiled anyhow, speaking softly to your child. Klaue handed a spoon to you and you did a double-take at the sundae. You took it, but didn’t starting biting into the treat like Klaue did.

“You eat like you haven’t had one before,” you said. In response he shrugged his shoulders and dallied his head from side to side.

 

“Give or take a decade.” He shoved another spoonful in his mouth, smudging a bit of fudge with his thumb off the corner of his mouth. You wondered the last time you ate one yourself, course it hadn’t been  _ that _ long….had it? Fuck it. You ate some ice cream. Not as much as them two, who did indeed get brain freeze. Perhaps Klaue had bigger eyes than his stomach because there was leftover melted vanilla and chocolate. Your son couldn’t eat another bite and you hoped he hadn’t made himself sick. Opposite of Klaue, who held his stomach as he stood up.

 

“Euf, maybe that’s why it’s been ten years,” he grumbled and slowly walked towards the door. To both of your surprise, your son took Klaue’s hand, jumping up and down with a smile, hyper. Both of you stood there in the middle of the shop, mouth agape, then looked up at each other in disbelief. Klaue smiled like a jackass and made some sort of giggly noise. He had more to his step then.

 

“Ready to go home, ja? Let’s go!” They walked out the door, you following in an odd daze. Your heart wanted to choke, seeing your son hold hands with that man, than same one who could kill you in a night, but bought your son ice cream and now walked down the sidewalk babbling back and forth like this was the best thing ever. It was such a weird thing seeing; last night you hid your son from Klaue and now it didn’t even matter that you did. Klaue looked back at you over his shoulder several times, still smiling. Always smiling. You kept an eye on both of them as you headed back home. The breeze changed, still nice and cool. The sun was a little hotter, getting higher in the sky. Different birds chirped, different crowds walked.Your son would let go of Klaue and run about in a circle, run back to you to do another circle, then run right back to Klaue and hold his hand again. Each time, Klaue laughed, praised him. At first it was in English, then he started throwing his words in.

 

You swallowed hard, watching your poor child interact with this criminal. Again you thought of last night, again you thought of the park. Where had Klaue said he was from? Dutchland? Germany, you think after a bit. Yes, you could see that; probably everyone could see that back at the park even if they hadn’t heard his accent. You kind of wanted to ask, but held back from it. You just wanted to focus on your son right now, trying to smile at the right times. Of course you had to make sure he was oblivious to Klaue...you just didn’t expect him to bond so quick to the man. It felt like a lose-lose situation, because either you’re son’s afraid of Klaue throughout the entire stay, or okay with Klaue enough to be oblivious to his true nature.

 

Your son slowed down in his steps, wearing down from the walk.He rubbed his eyes close to the apartment complex and finally returned to you. Easily and without complaint, you lifted him up and he laid on your shoulder. Once within distance to your home, Klaue let off and followed behind again. You were both silent the last several moments it took to walk through the door. You felt odd coming back home, noticing how your own home feel and scent had slightly changed to include Klaue’s cologne and some other scent that reminded you of something metallic?

 

When the door shut and the sun disappeared from your hallway, your heart and your gut felt heavy; you felt trapped again. Instinctively you held your son tighter, walking to your bedroom to lay him down for his nap. Just a peek into his room and you saw Jace still laying down, asleep. How long had he been out last night? You felt you’d find out later, maybe, depending on how tonight went. A shiver ran along your neck and arms to think about it; you’d keep your mouth shut tonight. Just from watching Klaue before, nighttime probably meant work time.

 

You removed your son’s shoes, then tucked him in the center of the bed. You moved stray hairs out of his face and just watched him sleep for a bit. When you did turn around to leave, Klaue was leaning there on your door frame, arms crossed. He finally removed his sunglasses and his eyes caught yours. There was no harm in them now, but you were still uneasy to look at him directly. You held your chin a little higher but looked away, shoes still in one hand you kept walking and hoped he’d back out of the way. He did a little, just enough for you to shut the door before his left hand went up against the frame and his body before yours. He kept you between him and your bedroom.

 

“I scared jou last night and I should to tell jou I was too harsh.” His voice was low, even and calm. You stared at the wall, still refusing to look at him. You could feel him staring down at you as if willing for your eyes to meet his. You couldn’t. His fingers brushed your jaw and you flinched back. He didn’t try to touch you again.

“I shouldn’t have held you like that,” he said. This was him apologizing without actually saying sorry. You glanced at him once, twice, saw his face was serious, but not angry. You saw his tribal tattoos more closely, noticing that even through the curls on his head, you could still make out the black ink on the side of his skull. His cologne had dulled from the walk and it reminded you of the park again. Your heart hammered.

 

“I’m just...worried about my child,” you finally whispered. You focused on his beard instead of his eyes.

“You’re too dangerous to be around him.” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that, maybe you should’ve just said it was all okay and you could move on from this too intimate position. Klaue didn’t retract, you didn’t say anything else. You saw his chest heave under his shirt, then looked away quickly, ashamed for even noticing such a thing. He still scared you last night, threatened you and had leverage with your child after finally gaining his trust. With frikkin ice cream. Just because the man was touchy today didn’t mean anything changed; it was only day two.

 

“You’re right,” he finally said. You looked back at his beard and he smiled. Finally, you looked into his eyes; it was the same happiness from yesterday when he walked into your kitchen and stretched his hand out to shake it.

“I’m not a good man, but any good moeder in her right mind would be on guard against me.” His eyes flicked down your body then back up. You held your breath at such a gaze.

 

“Give it time, bokkie.” At this new nickname your brow quirked. He stepped back from you, but his eyes never left.

“I shouldn’t make such trouble, ‘specially when you’re housing me. So, I’ll watch myself better ‘round you.” He placed his right hand over his heart, adding with emphasis.

“And I will never, never, hurt your kind.” Again you looked at him in confusion, then closed your eyes in silence. He was being sincere, but his accent, his language made things a little difficult. Whatever last word he said sounded like kent but, more towards a vulgar word...

 

“I...I don’t know what you said,” you mumbled. “But it sounded like c...cunt.” You have shouted motherfucker and shit and asswipe to the world at the top of your lungs before. You still considered the C word too heavy for your tongue. Klaue’s snickering piqued your interest and he had to cover his mouth to not be too loud. Then it was just a raspy laugh.

 

“Your face,” he said and walked into the living room. You followed him in still holding your son’s shoes. He laughed back to his corner, taking off his own shoes, and sat at the table. He pulled his flip phone out of his pocket and started looking through some of the papers. Still smiling.

“The sound pretty much is cunt when said in Afrikaans.” He looked at you, winked, then back down at his papers. For some reason you blushed, so you looked away, clearing your throat.

 

“I thought you were from Germany?” you asked after peeking into your son’s room down the hall, noticing Jace had moved a bit. Dutch was Germany’s language, you thought.

 

“Belgium, grew up in Africa,” Klaue replied. He went to get his laptop from its spot in the couch. You stared at the hole in your furniture again and forced your quick anger down; you’d just have to let that go… Belgium though, you had to think where that was located.

 

“Afrikaans is derived from a form of Dutch, so words mix.” That made more sense then; you had never heard Afrikaans before, but it really wasn’t hard to believe Klaue could’ve been from Germany. Jace caught your eye again as he walked out of your son’s room holding onto his head. He looked at you sleepily, almost as if he weren’t there at all. Briefly you thought he took more pills, but he yawned and was steady when he walked into the living room.

 

You eyed him to make sure he wasn’t hurt anywhere. Klaue took his seat at the wobbly table, looked at Jace for two seconds before scoffing at his awful look, and started scribbling notes waiting for the laptop to boot. As you walked to the door to set your son’s shoes by it, Jace leaned against the island counter, cracked his neck, then rolled his shoulders.

 

“So what are we doing with the guns?” he asked. You stumbled walking back, frozen holding onto the wall as you stared at your cousin. Klaue’s jaw set tight and he slowly turned to glare at Jace, looking ready to slam him into the floor.


	4. Vier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stress is getting to you, messing with your norm and testing your safety boundaries. A hiccup in your day only promises another challenge for you and your son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so sweet and caring, thank you so much for the reviews. My son is doing fine, thank you guys.   
> It makes me so happy that this many of you like the story and that Klaue's character is good enough so far. I need to go back and tweak some things that aren't consistent, Klaue's personality is so limited in the media it's difficult for me to fluff him up for this.
> 
> I do have the next couple of chapters outlined and planned out, as well as the ending of the story , it's just finding the time to sit and write it out. After everything that's gone down, I have a window and it shouldn't be too long before I replace this page with the fourth chapter and recap.
> 
> Thank you guys again for the reviews~

You thought you were fine for a moment, maybe thought you hadn’t heard what Jace said. He said crazy things sometimes when he was under the influence and you really wanted to deny that there would be guns in your home. But they were, in pieces and in various small boxes stacked and cramped in the carved out frame of your couch. They’d been under your ass for the passed two weeks, when Jace apparently carved out the couch while you were at work. Klaue had planned on doing business right out of your kitchen before even meeting you.

You hadn’t said a word yet, maybe that’s what made the men anxious. They showed you where the guns were and all you did was stare at them, one hand covering your mouth, the other around your stomach. White, shitty little boxes labeled with various numbers. UPC codes? Manufactured? Where from? Your head boiled with questions, you tried to answer them yourself but it didn’t really make sense. This was a hard spot already and it just got harder; Klaue scared the hell out of you, today’s outing actually mended things some bit, but now this-

Anything vile or angry spat out of Klaue’s mouth. He chewed Jace out in the hallway, some words understandable but mostly it was just spewing gibberish in the background. Jace either nodded understandably, saying he was sorry, and was cowering from the criminal. Klaue was upset enough to shoved him into the wall and hold him there by the shirt. You were never supposed to find out about the guns, but Jace forgot. Jace forgot because he used something again. That wasn’t the issue though.

“I want them out,” you finally said. Klaue paused, checked around the corner wondering if he had actually hear you. You repeated yourself without looking at him, still studying the boxes. There was an awkward pause and then he cleared his throat.

“I’m still working on dat-”

“I have to leave this place tomorrow and I can’t work knowing there is a black market trade going in and out of the same living room my son watches cartoons in; I can’t, I can’t do that, I can not willingly let this go on any further than today because all I see is something going off and exiting my child’s skull.”

“T’at’s not going ta happen, they can’t be used right now.”

“So nothing in here can go off without warning?” You looked at him, gesturing to the couch. He blinked a couple times and smiled like the question was stupid.

“If it did, I wouldn’t be sleeping there.”

“Nothing’s loose? Like he isn’t going to be crawling around one day and a bullet just so happens to roll out and he’ll go “Oh what’s this better bite it!” because that’s what toddlers do, they put things in their mouth for some reason and then choke on it-”

“No-”

“Is my mattress carved out too?” You cut off Klaue before he could respond and rounded into the kitchen. Your words were directed at Jace.

“Did you put bullets under my pillow Jace? Am I sleeping with an AK-47 up my ass tonight?” He shook his head, turning away from you, shrugging his shoulders up defensively. The only thing that came out of his mouth was sorry, over and over. Klaue snorted, tried to talk to you again, hands up to calm you down.

“Did  _ either _ of you think about my son? Did you not go “Oh hmmmm, there’s a baby in there maybe this isn’t the best place to store parts and ammunition because, you know, he might fucking die from it.”

Klaue said your name, put his hands down on your shoulders. You stared at his beard again, refusing to look at his eyes. This was more awkward than being in the hallway, Klaue was apologizing then, now he just seemed annoyed. You exhaled loud, felt a lump in your throat and tried to clear it. It was silent for a few seconds, then he looked at Jace and jerked his head to the side. Instantly, Jace turned and walked out the front door. He was considerate enough to close it quietly for the baby’s sake.

“Give me three weeks and it’ll be gone.” You shut your eyes, thinking he was lying; you couldn't read him, you didn't know to trust his words. At the same time you didn't argue with him. Again you tried to clear the lump in your throat, thinking about the parts and pieces in your couch. What were they for? Who was buying things like this from a man like Klaue? Did it matter that you knew- you quickly decided no. As long as it was gone, away from your son. Nothing more to worry about except Klaue leaving. You just wanted them gone; you admitted to yourself it would have been better if you didn't know. Just to save you another stressful moment, just to keep Klaue from touching you again. He watched you cringe and pulled his hands away. He brushed passed you, heading out.

“In all honesty, Dolly, if anything is going off it's my gun in Jace's face.”

You turned to question him, but he was already out the door. Deep down a small part of you wanted to storm after him and protect your cousin; like back when everyone was done with his shit. Things changed after your son, things got harder and you had to be braver, stronger, more of a bitch in a way, but you couldn’t protect Jace anymore. Especially when he kept dragging you back down in his screw ups. He did this, you reminded yourself. This was Jace’s fault. You had to help him out again so that he, hopefully, didn’t die.

 

\------

 

You weren’t quite sure how to handle the rest of the day, but it went by without any other hitches. Klaue worked, Jace stayed outside, you cleaned, and your son had no clue what was going on. Adamantly, you kept him off the couch out of paranoia. He did sleep in your bed again that night, but you lay awake staring at your bedroom door. When you did fall asleep, it was only for an hour or so before you woke again, and it repeated like that until your alarm was off at five thirty.

Things moved in a numbing blur; you made your coffee, got ready for work, got your son ready for daycare, strapped him in his carseat of your piece of shit car and drove off. It was the weirdest feeling not having Klaue there with you two. You noticed him eyeing you as the two of you left; he even watched from the doorframe. His arms were crossed, he gave a half crooked smile at you, but his gaze was serious- he did not blink the entire time you backed out of the parking space.

Don’t tell anyone.

Don’t tell anyone.

Your nerves didn’t knot your stomach until you dropped off you child and showed up to work; maybe everything rushed down from your overactive imagination, mixed a little with your anxious heart, and punched you in the gut; you hurled on the side of the road on the way to work. Nothing but black coffee and bile. No sick days to take. Walking into work, co-workers glanced at you with raised brows and you tried to brush it off. No one asked you what was up, or if they tried you faked a smile and said you were fine.

If I just work I’ll be okay. If I just work I can’t think about him, you thought to yourself.

Counting inventory, putting up stock, marking down product going out of date soon did only so much. You still thought about him, about the couch and the bullets. Jace's stressed face and your clueless child. It was when the customers started asking questions that you really started having trouble. You blanked which aisles food was on, or tea or cleaners or pet food. You had issues remembering store policy on returning opened items and when someone asked how long you’d been working there all you could say was

“I don’t know.”

You were slow on count, your inventory numbers kept reading different from the printed tally and you kept recounting. It took people tapping you on the shoulder to get your attention, then they'd get frustrated with your hesitation to answer their questions. The clock neither moved fast or slow for you, sometimes it even stayed in the same spot when you checked it. Complaints were filed, enough to warrant some attention. You didn't budge at it though, just nodded in a daze.  When lunch hit you couldn't eat. Maybe a couple bites, but that was it. You ended it early before anyone else could ask if you were okay. Avoidance only went so far in the workplace though.

The manager's office was small, pale blue with bad carpet and holes left over from where nails used to be. His desk was too big for the room and it took him time to squeeze around to his side and sit in his creaky chair with the bade wheels. The only things on his desk were papers, pens, and a glass of water.

“(Y/n),” Willis asked. He was stout man, taller than you by a couple inches, a balding spot at the back of his head surrounding by thinning brown hair, and beard as stubbly as your next couch potato. His eyebrows were thin and spotted. The first time you met him, when he replaced your previous manager, you wondered if he had a thyroid issue. Sometimes you saw him pop his medication, depending on what time of the day it was.

“You’re worrying some of your co-workers and frankly...I see why.” He smiled a bit, trying to lighten the conversation. He was never one to go easy on people, but when it came to customers he could be a foot mat and wishy-washy. It depended on his mood, really, if he felt small or big that day.

“Do you..have a bug? Are you ill?”

It dawned on you suddenly that you didn't think of an excuse for your behavior. The first thing in your head was no, you weren’t ill, and that you were horribly afraid to go home. You looked up at him, trying to fight back tears and his expression changed to concern. You didn’t see this on his face very much; you two hardly ever talked, ever. You genuinely considered asking him to call the police.

“Someone died,” you croaked. “I’m just not handling it too well.” The lie was believable and his shoulders slumped; he nodded in understanding and finally looked away from you. He looked over at some papers to his right, tapped a pencil in his other hand. You thought of Klaue at your table, typing on his laptop with one hand and writing with the other.

“I’m sorry to hear that… I doubt anyone here would have an issue if you took some time off to deal with it?” He looked back at you and raised his poor eyebrows. You caught your breath and looked down. You could lie to Klaue about going to work when you really weren’t. Maybe you could tell someone, somehow, that he was there...that you could get your kid out of the city while authorities took care of him.

You remembered the nightmare you had, about him popping up in your car with a gun and laughing at you to turn around. His hand on your jaw, then touching your cheek, grabbing your shoulders, the smile on your son’s face when you walked home yesterday. You couldn't tell anyone, you were too afraid and balled your fists together in your lap; you failed as a mom. You were supposed to keep him safe from things like this- there was no way you could rat out Ulysses. You felt for sure it would backfire on you in a raging fury you didn't want to see come to life in his face. Or his hand. There was something off about that man's hand that made you feel worse.

“N-no, I… I need to be distracted Willis. I can’t stay home.” You shook your head and pinched the space between your eyes. If you didn’t look at him he couldn’t second guess that you were lying. There was a pause, then he sighed heavily. He believed you.

“I can understand that too, it’s just you’re slipping a little with people today. More than a little, you're out of it. So…”

“I know I’m sorry,” you cleared your throat and sat up straight. Unballing your fists, you placed them on the arm rests and felt the ripped threads of fabric. The worn out material underneath stuck through like little thorns on your fingertips.

“I’ll do better.” You looked at him with a weak smile and started to get up, but he held his hand up to stop you.

“I know I know.” He looked back at the paper again. Squinting at it from where you stood, you could tell it was a schedule.

“Just uh, stay in the back for today,” he added, sounding a little unsure. He never placed you in the back because it was a different type of scheduling for hours and he lost you from the front floor.

“Tomorrow too…probably just the rest of the week. Maybe.” He tapped his pencil again. You thought of typing on the laptop. Paper on your table. Willis smiled at you, small and weak. He reminded you of yourself.

“Okay?”

You nodded slowly, standing up with little ease.

 

\----

 

It was almost dark when you went to the daycare to pick up your son. Walking in you could smell bleach and Lysol; the teachers wiped down their rooms before they left that day and you tried hopping in dry spots to dodge the wet floors. Your son was in one of the rooms upstairs, with the two year olds, and was usually one of the last few who went home. When he saw you come through the door he smiled and went back to playing with the toys. Usually that meant he did not want to leave and ended up with him crying in the car. While you squatted down next to him, you noticed how slow his teacher was moving towards you and how uneasy her face looked.

“Did something happen?” you asked. She shook her head and furrowed her brows.

“No no...not really, um,” she twiddled with a paper in her hand and then settled herself.

“There was an inspection today and we have to inform all of the parents that the daycare is closing.” She paused a little, looking embarrassed.

"We failed the inspection and they can't reach the owner..."

It was quiet. The kids were playing loud with each other, their voices echoed in the room, but it was silent. You heard the blood rush in your head, you heard your heart get louder as you just stared at her. She might’ve asked if you were okay, you didn’t hear, just slowly looked down at the floor and swallowed.

“We have lists of other daycare centers and it’s not for another couple of weeks or so; we were given that amount of time so all the parents could find other places,” she said. You nodded, absentmindedly standing and taking the paper she was handing you. You didn’t say anything else and your son decided he was ready to go after seeing you grab his little backpack. The car ride was quiet; the radio wouldn’t play again because of static, you ended up turning it off earlier. The sky was dark, lights beamed too bright to be normal and they hurt your head. The closer you got to your apartment complex, the harder your heart thumped. Your chest hurt, literally, and your mouth dried up enough that your tongue was stuck to the roof of your mouth. When you pulled into your parking spot you didn’t immediately shut it off.

“Momma? Momma? Go inside?” your son asked. He was trying to unbuckled his seatbelt. It hurt you that he wanted to go in. The door opened and it was Jace peering out, then he ducked back in. WIth a shaky breath you switched everything off.

The night repeated itself; Klaue worked, Jace kept to himself, your son played. You were quiet through cooking and cleaning, through everything, and even late into the night after your son was asleep and Klaue retired to lay on the couch with the news on silent, you sat cross legged on your bed staring at the list of daycares.

They all cost too much. Just out of your range enough to affect your other bills. You’d have to get aid, but that took time and paperwork and a lot of back and forth on both parts with paychecks and phone calls. The worst part about it was your son’s father, who made it difficult to get anything because he kept counteracting everything you put down on file.

You weren’t sure what to do, but you didn’t want Klaue to see this. There wasn’t a good reason why other than you just didn’t want him to know anything.

“I'm stuck,” you muttered and held your stomach.You hadn’t eaten anything all day. You were nauseous, uneasy, cornered.

 


End file.
